


Biology 101

by Twisted_Mind



Series: Hales' Finishing School for Traditional Omegas [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alpha Laura Hale, Alpha Peter Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Mindfuck, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Object Insertion, Omega Isaac Lahey, Omega Kira Yukimura, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Public Nudity, School Uniforms, Size Training, Uniforms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:49:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21777826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind
Summary: Stiles’s second day atHales’isn’t really going much better than her first.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Hales' Finishing School for Traditional Omegas [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1521086
Comments: 20
Kudos: 315





	Biology 101

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bunnywest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/gifts), [DiscontentedWinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiscontentedWinter/gifts).



> Heeeeey. So y'know the dirtybadwrong thing I wrote for Kinktober? It's now a series. Bc of course it is. *headdesk* Part two here does a lot of heavy lifting, re: world-building, but won't make much sense without having read the first part. 
> 
> **_Please be aware_** that this story is dark, and the universe depicted below contains a lot of non-con elements. As such, it's tricky to accurately warn for and tag, though I am trying to be responsible on that front. Please double-check the tags up top before you read, and be careful with yourselves darlings. <3 Use the back button if you need it. 
> 
> This pile of irredeemable garbage is being gifted to my darling Australians. Hope it lives down to your expectations. 
> 
> Happy Friday!

Stiles’s second day at _Hales’_ isn’t really going much better than her first. She stares incredulously at what the head of uniforms is holding up. “That. You’re telling me _that_ is what I’m expected to wear here?”

Madame Laura Hale raises an eyebrow at her. “It’s what all first-form pupils wear.”

Stiles eyes the sheer silk tunic and ballet flats in disgust. “You’re fucking kidding me. What about when the weather turns? Are we supposed to wear that outdoors?”

Madame Laura huffs, her gaze edging on a glare. “Don’t be ridiculous. There are wraps and furs available for outdoor excursions in the cooler months.”

Stiles thinks her eyebrows might climb off her forehead at this rate. “Okay, so if you’re willing to bow to practicality on occasion, then why is this,” she gestures at the champagne-gold silk, “even a thing?”

At that, Madame carefully sets the uniform down on the table between them, before rounding it to stand in front of her. This close, the size difference is impossible not to notice—Madame is an alpha, taller and broader than Stiles. By a lot. “Three things, Miss Stilinski. The first is that I will not tolerate being spoken to this way. Are we clear?”

Stiles swallows convulsively and hopes she hasn’t landed herself in deep shit. “Clear.”

“Good. Secondly, our uniforms have a specific purpose. The first-form tunic,” she runs delicate fingertips along the silk, and Stiles notices that she’s got nice hands, “is designed to help you grow comfortable with your body, and the bodies of your classmates.”

Which sounds great in theory, except—“But why?” Stiles asks, hastily adding, “Madame.”

The nod she gets means she probably won’t be expelled, although that’s starting to look like a better and better option. “Because, little omega,” Madame Laura brings her hands up and begins taking Stiles’s measurements, hands lingering, “you are the sexual ideal. Your bodies are built not just for maximum fertility, but for also for dizzying pleasure.” Her hands slide down Stiles’s hips. “Both for you, and your partners.”

Stiles swallows. She’s never heard that—public school health classes were mainly focussed on the “babies” part, and schoolyard alphas only ever seemed to care about the “can take your knot” part. “So, the tunic being see-through?”

Madame Laura smiles from her crouch, sliding one hand up the inside of Stiles’s leg to measure the inseam. The backs of her fingers press against Stiles’s mound through her jeans, and Stiles bites back a whimper. “So you can shed the unbecoming self-consciousness that’s been pressed on you from the time you were a child, and embody the sensuality you were always meant to.”

It still sounds like a crock to her, but at least she’ll have her bra and underwear. Better than nothing. “Um, what are these measurements for? The, uh,” Stiles flails towards the little slip of nothing this school calls a uniform, “tunic seems fairly standard? No tailoring involved?”

Madame Laura hums before walking away to a rack full of more sheer gold fabric. “Correct. However, I wanted to double-check that Peter had given me the correct size for you, and I will need to get started on a set of second- and third-form uniforms for you. Oh yes,” she turns, smiling at Stiles’s squawk of outrage, “the more advanced pupils have different attire.”

She points, and Stiles looks. Moving closer, she sees a racks of dove-grey linen dresses—sleeveless and about knee-length, with a run of ruffles down the front of the skirt and a few buttons on the bodice. Behind those are a similar style of dress, also in dove-grey linen, with long sleeves and a longer skirt. There’s no buttons on those, just a deep, swooping V-neck—though the ruffled skirt is the same.

The rack behind those are filled with gauzy white cotton—not quite as sheer as the tunics, but much less substantial than the grey linens. Stiles can’t quite figure out how it’s meant to be worn, because whatever the garment is supposed to look like on a body, it’s basically shapeless on the rack. It might be X-shaped. Or Y.

As she turns to ask Madame Laura, however, she catches sight of someone wearing white in the hallway, and can’t help but stare.

The older omega girl is wreathed in the fine fabric, with two swathes of it draped over her shoulders, leaving most of her back bared. The garment is cinched in at her waist by a cobalt-blue sash, tied in a bow at the front. It covers her down to her knees, but sways with her every movement, revealing glimpses of thigh and flank, the curve of her breasts and ass.

She’s naked underneath the delicate cotton, and looks like a Greek goddess.

Stiles drops her eyes guiltily, flushing bright red as Madame Laura hands her a stack of boxes containing her uniform. Mumbling her thanks, she scurries out of the uniform office and back to her assigned room in the dormitories.

She shoves the boxes under her bed to deal with tomorrow.

***

The next day, she wakes up early and has an awkward, hasty shower in the communal bathroom. She never thought she’d miss the saloon-style doors and clear shower curtains from public school gym, but at least there were actual barriers there, no matter how flimsy. _Hales’_ just has a row of showerheads along the tiled wall, punctuated only by little shelves and hooks for toiletries and washcloths. The others start coming in as she’s finishing up, and she’s glad she was quick.

She dries off back in her room absently, wondering how to track the peak use times and if it’s worth the fuckery to her sleep schedule to shower exclusively in the lulls. Time will tell, she supposes.

Dry but for her hair, Stiles pulls on a bra and pair of underwear—that don’t match, because fuck that noise—and puts off opening the boxes containing her farce of a uniform by treating, combing, and braiding her hair back. It doesn’t take nearly as long as she wishes it did.

Out of ways to stall, she slides the boxes out from under her bed, heart pounding. The smallest box reveals a thick silicone toy that’s shaped sort of like a bulbous spade, and she immediately slaps the lid back on and shoves it under the bed. She’ll deal with that insanity as close to never as possible.

The second smallish box has her ballet flats. They go on by the door. The last box, she tips out across her bed, letting the shimmering silk puddle on her bedspread. It’s soft when she picks it up, and it feels decadent against her skin once she slips it over her head, but she still hates it, hates that she’s left to feel so exposed. She slides her feet into the flats reluctantly, but breakfast means leaving her room in this thing, so off she goes, because nothing is going to stand between her and food.

She’s just closed her door behind her when she runs into another omega in the hallway. The short, pretty Asian girl’s mouth drops open upon seeing her, and she looks around before stepping closer. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

Stiles has no idea what the fresh hell this is, but, “Yes?”

The other girl nods. “Look, I know it’s a lot to get used to, but that’s a dress code violation. You won’t even make it down to the dining hall dressed like that.”

Stiles takes a deep breath and fights not to swear. “I’m wearing the stupid see-through uniform, what else do they want?”

The other girl’s expressive face scrunches up in sympathy. “Your, um. Your underthings.”

Stiles feels her eyebrows climb her face. “You’re _joking_.”

The other girl shakes her head. “Look, I’m Kira, and it was really, really hard for me when I first started here, so I’m just trying to warn you. Underwear isn’t allowed most of the time, not unless you’re on your period.”

Stiles’s eyes drop to Kira’s chest a little guiltily, but Kira just nods and stands up straighter, displaying a complete lack of _anything at all_ under her gold tunic. “Right. Kay. Thanks, Kira.”

It gets her a sunny smile. “You’re welcome! I just didn’t want you to wind up with detention on your first day.”

Which is kind of her, but Stiles would probably prefer detention _every day_ to wandering around with her tits hanging out. Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to be an option, so she reluctantly ducks back into her room to strip out of the few scraps of security she thought she’d be allowed before going down to breakfast.

As awful as it feels, being basically-nude in front of so many people, no one stares. Not really, not the way she would’ve expected them to. Some of it is probably that, aside from the staff, and the second-formers in their grey linen, everyone is some degree of naked.

She doesn’t like it, so she keeps her head down, plows through breakfast, and then heads off in the direction of her first class when the clock on the wall lets out a little chime at quarter to ten.

_At least the hours here are decent_ , Stiles thinks as she consults the map she was given her first day. She’s not sure what to expect from Omegan Biology 101, but walking into the assigned class to see none other than Master Peter makes her gut squirm. She stays at the back of the room, trying to hide behind the other students.

Unfortunately, roll-call makes that futile.

“And I’d like everyone to welcome Stiles Stilinski, who’s joining us in class for the first time today. Step forward, Stiles, don’t be shy.”

She grimaces, but obeys, shoulders hunched and arms crossed over her chest. She gives everyone a tight smile, and is surprised—and a little touched—when Kira leans forward until her shoulder brushes Stiles’s arm.

Master Peter, of course, notices. “The uniform can take a little getting used to, but no one here will judge you, sweetling.” His eyes track over her, lingering between her legs as his eyebrows pull together. “Where’s your plug?”

She freezes. “My what?”

Rather than repeat himself, Master Peter steps forward, and slips a hand between her thighs, the pads of his fingers brushing the lips of her cunt. Stiles is shocked, and skitters backwards, but he doesn’t follow. Instead, he turns. “Kira, darling, would you be a love and go fetch Stiles’s plug?”

“Yes, sir!”

Stiles shakes her head. “I don’t—what?”

He tsks. “As difficult as it is to get used to, all aspects of the uniform serve a specific purpose. While omegan bodies are designed to accommodate a knot, and to bear young in multiples, preparation is still necessary to ensure safe experiences, let alone enjoyable ones.”

And just. What the fuck. “Uh, preparation?”

Surprisingly, it’s not Master Peter who answers—it’s a tall omega boy with honey blond curls. “Our soft tissues down there are designed to expand, and we’ve got wider hips and birth canals than betas, but it’s basically like any other muscle. You wouldn’t start playing a sport at a competitive level—you’d work up to it. That’s what the plugs are for.”

Stiles doesn’t really have the time to properly digest the horrifying implications of that, because Kira skids back into the room, flushed and panting. “Here it is!”

Stiles can’t look at the blue lump of silicone in her hand.

Master Peter doesn’t have that problem. “Thank you, Kira. Stiles, if you’ll come along with me, we’ll get you sorted. The rest of you should each come up with one reason or fact in support of training plugs and their historical use. We’ll be discussing it when I return, and you’ll be turning that in for credit, so don’t think you can all just put down the same thing and I won’t know.”

He takes her elbow, and guides her into a little room behind his desk. There’s a sink, and a low, padded bench, and she has a very, very bad feeling about this.

“Have you ever used a plug before, sweetheart?” he asks, washing up at the sink.

“No, sir.”

He hums like he expected that. “Then I’ll help you today. Lie on the bench, and spread your legs for me.”

She really, really doesn’t want to, but she lies on the bench anyway, staring determinedly at the ceiling. When he turns around and sees that she hasn’t obeyed, he tuts. One big hand guides her legs up and open, and she doesn’t fight it, because it’s pretty clear that this isn’t a battle she’s going to win.

She still flinches when his thumb presses between her labia, skating over her opening. “You’re rather dry, and that’s not what we want. Usually, you’d be doing the insertion on your own, and could take your time, slick up the natural way. We don’t have that kind of time right now, unfortunately, so,” his thumb comes back, wet, and rubs between her folds.

For a moment, she thinks the strange tingling she feels _down there_ is because she’s being touched by an alpha. Then the tingling intensifies, and she feels arousal slam into her, and she realizes what happened. “You—you drugged me?”

Master Peter purses his lips disapprovingly. “The tincture is a tool, Stiles. You needed help to take your plug, and I provided you with that help. That’s all. Now then,” he keeps massaging, around her clit and over flesh that’s quickly growing slick, “time for you to take your plug like a good omega, hmm?”

He holds it up, and she whines. She’s not sure if it’s because she wants that thick chunk of silicone sliding into her, or because she doesn’t.

“Now, even with your natural lubrication, it’s always a good idea to use some extra before putting your plug in.” He makes a show of rubbing lube on her plug until it’s glistening. (Where did the lube come from?) “It can also help ease penetration to hold yourself open with one hand, like so.”

Slick fingers peel her labia open and hold them spread, and Stiles turns her face away in an attempt to hide her blush, because she can feel herself starting to leak. It means she’s not looking when the tip of the plug slides inside her, gliding easily. Master Peter pumps the first few inches into her lazily.

“The shape of this is designed to ease the process, and I’ve started you with a nice, reasonable five-inch plug. Once you’re more used to wearing it, we’ll move you up until you can take a knot whenever you’d like, but. Baby steps.”

The toy pushes deeper, the widest part—the bulb simulating a knot—presses against her insistently, but doesn’t slide in. Master Peter isn’t deterred. “It can take a bit of time to work a plug in, especially for an omega who isn’t used to wearing them. Time, patience, persistence, and some lube will go a long way, however.” He pulls it back, then presses it against her again, and then again. The third time, he starts to twist it, ever so slightly, back and forth. “Come on, little o,” he murmurs, “be a good girl and open up for me. It’s time to take your plug.”

And then, with one last push—harder than she would have used on herself—the thickest part sinks inside, slipping in-in-in until it settles behind her pubic bone. Stiles chokes on a sob, because it’s so much, and it feels good but not at the same time, and she doesn’t—

“Shh, little o. It’s okay.” Master Peter’s palm covers the plug where it’s nestled between her lips, and _pushes_ , his thumb rubbing just above her clit. Stiles writhes, because the base of the plug is snugged up just below her clit, and the intensity of it all—the pressure inside and out, the sheer _sensation_ —has her rutting mindlessly against Master Peter’s hand until she comes with a little cry.

He steps away from her to wash his hands at the sink, and Stiles thinks that’s the end of it, until he says, “An orgasm after insertion can help it settle into place, as well as helping the muscles grow accustomed to the plug. It also helps with size training, and in helping you associate the plug—and, later on, a knot—with pleasure.” He turns around, an unsettling smile on his face as he dries his hands without breaking eye contact with her. “And it feels good, which is reason enough on its own.”

Stiles swallows, and sits up, closing her legs and biting back a hiss as it jostles the plug inside her. She feels overfull and hypersensitive, but she cares more about putting whatever kind of distance she can between herself and Master Hale. “Right.”

He nods. “Feel free to come see me or Madame Laura if you need any further help with your plug—we both set aside an hour or so every morning for omegas that need a helping hand. For now, though, class.”

She follows behind him, rejoining the others with her eyes fixed on the ground. She doesn’t want to know what they see when they look at her, and she doesn’t want them to see how conflicted she is.

Because no matter how good that orgasm was, she didn’t ask for it. And she can’t tell how much of what she’s feeling is the tincture, and how much of it is Master Peter himself. She’s pretty sure it’s not her. She’s never felt like this before, like her mind and her body want two separate things, but she’s also never had anything but her own fingers inside her before coming here. She had a trusty little bullet vibe at home, but clearly it’s not the same thing.

All she knows for sure is that she won’t be seeing Madame or Master Hale in the mornings for “help” with the plug. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also on [Tumblr](https://queerfictionwriter.tumblr.com/).


End file.
